


Knight Of the Death Eaters

by sunshyndaisies (writergirlie)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirlie/pseuds/sunshyndaisies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron's friends and family fear the worst when he begins to withdraw from them and rumors spread that he's in league with the Death Eaters. Will Ron's apparent betrayal tear his relationships apart? (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the "Knight" series before OotP came out, so as you'll see fairly quickly as you read through this, the entire series is AU. However, I'm proud of what I was able to put together here, so I am sharing it anyway.
> 
> With thanks to JKR for creating this incredible world and characters...

Harry Potter unrolled the piece of parchment in his hand. It was worn and wrinkled--nearly torn in some places from having been clutched and folded and unfolded at least a hundred times since he had received the letter three days ago. He hadn't counted how many times he had read it; he just knew that each time he did, he felt as dazed and numb as he had been when he first saw the handwriting on the envelope. He had recognised it instantly, but the letters had been far from the neat, even ones he was used to, and he knew at once that something must have been very wrong before he had ever read a single word in the letter.

 

 

Dear Harry,

 

I need to speak with you urgently--in person. Meet me in the Shrieking Shack  in

Hogsmeade at five in the morning, on 17 October. If I haven't Apparated by the time

you get there, please wait for me. Come alone, and do not show this letter to anyone,

under any circumstances, not even to Ginny.

 

You have to help me, Harry--you're the only one who'll understand...

 

Hermione

 

He looked around himself, but he was still alone. Hermione still had not Apparated, and his anxiety was growing with each second that passed. Outside, dawn still lingered, and only a dull, charcoal-colored light filtered in through the windows inside the house, making the dust-covered furniture look like tombs in the darkness. The eerie sight seemed appropriate at the moment, matching the way he felt. Absently, he fingered the paper in his hands again, then his eyes went back down to it, like a magnet drawn to metal.

 

The words looked as though they had been hastily scrawled, as if Hermione had tried valiantly--but failed--to keep her hand from shaking as she wrote it. And he knew then, even without proof, what this had to be about. Only one thing could affect Hermione in this way, and his stomach lurched at the mere thought of it.

 

Something had happened to Ron.

 

 

* ~ *

 

_He felt her arms encircle his waist, her hands slide up to his chest as she drew him close and pressed her cheek up against his shoulder blade. Instinctively, he smiled._

_"Well," he said, "what's this for?" He turned around and deftly collected her in his arms, delighting in the way she giggled when she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Merlin, he loved the sound of her carefree laughter. _

_She didn't say anything at first, though, only narrowing her eyes at him in the mocking way she did sometimes, when she was torn between exasperation at him and involuntary amusement. Finally, she said, "If you have to ask, Ron Weasley, then you really have been gone for far too long."_

_He couldn't help but snigger, though there was a part of him that winced inside at the grain of truth in her words, but he paid for his reaction instantly, when Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Ah, I was wondering when that would come up," he said. "I knew I was bound to hear something of the like sooner or later."_

_Her mouth opened in preparation for a retort, but he interrupted her with a kiss before she could say anything, capturing her half-laugh/half-groan in his mouth. He knew he was off the hook when she raised her hands to his face. His skin tingled at her touch. _

_When they finally parted, she whispered, tracing his jawline as she did, "I hate you," but the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips betrayed her._

_"Yeah, I missed you too, Hermione," he answered, in their own unique language. He bent down to her stomach, noticeably rounder now than it had been before he had left. She was starting to show now. "And you too in there."_

_Hermione let out a laugh, though he could tell she had been resisting to prove a point, and their eyes met when he looked up at her again and gave her a grin. _

_"I suppose... some things have changed while you've been gone, haven't they?" Her voice was quiet when she said this, softer and more tentative, but without accusation, and despite the smile she was giving him at the moment, he caught the hint of disappointment in her words nevertheless. _

_He straightened and sighed, knowing the look on his face must have been one of pure guilt. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Before she could answer, he quickly added, "I didn't expect to be away that long, Hermione. And I swear, if there had been any way--any way at all--I would have got word to you so you'd known..."_

_"I know, I know," she said, breaking free from his embrace. This was now beginning to be a familiar conversation. _

_She turned her back to him, putting her hands to her hips, but he gently turned her around to face him again._

_"Do you?" he said. _

_After some silence, she said with a resigned sigh, "You're an Auror. It's your job. I may not like the fact that my husband has to leave me for weeks at a time sometimes, but... I've no choice, really, do I?"_

_The way she was looking at him drove a dagger into his heart. "I can't change this," he said quietly._

_"I know."_

_"Look, I'm sorry I don't have the stable desk job you want me to have, Hermione-"_

_"Oh, don't you dare go there!" A familiar fire flashed in her eyes; he knew he had touched a nerve, though he hadn't meant to, and he immediately felt horrible for it. "Perhaps mine seems like a boring life to you, Ron, being in the Ministry, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't have your thirst for adventure and danger!"_

_"Hermione, that's not what I meant-"_

_"I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime."_

_She pulled away again, this time a little more forcefully, then walked off. Ron knew it would be best to leave her be for a while before trying to talk to her, though it was instinct to want to chase after her and resolve the argument now. But the pregnancy had made her more sensitive than usual these days, and on top of the many months of frustration and resentment he knew must have been building up inside her since he had started this mission, he reckoned he couldn't have really blamed her._

_How he wished he could confide in her about this; they had always been able to tell each other everything. But this time was different--he was sworn to secrecy, and even if he hadn't been, the thought of Hermione and the baby being in danger if she knew kept him from saying anything._

But it will be over soon_, he thought. _And then you'll understand why I did this_. _

When I am gone, you will understand_._

_He let out a heavy sigh, and felt his eyes sting with unwanted tears that he blinked back. In five months, he was going to have a baby he would never get to meet. A son he would never get to teach the finer points of Quidditch; a daughter he would never get to call "princess." A little baby he hoped would look like Hermione and wouldn't be cursed with his red hair and freckles--though Hermione had insisted she wanted every child of theirs to have the distinctive Weasley features she so adored. _

Damn you, Voldemort_. Inside, a fire raged in him like an inferno_. You've cost me everything_._


	2. Chapter 2

Ron had been distant with him for some time now.

 

Harry had first noticed it when he and Ginny had learned of Hermione’s pregnancy three months ago, when an especially exuberant Pigwidgeon nearly shattered the windowpane in their kitchen, trying to deliver Hermione’s letter which bore the good news.

 

Ginny had squealed aloud when she read the opening line. “I’m going to be an aunt!” she cried out. She ran back into the kitchen, where Harry had finally managed to settle a fussy Emily down after Pigwidgeon’s outburst, and showed him the letter. “Harry, look--Hermione’s going to have a baby!!”

 

Harry pulled Ginny onto his lap as Pigwidgeon pin-balled around them in the room, and they read the rest of the letter together. “You’re going to be the baby’s godfather,” she read on. She turned to their daughter and smiled. “Did you hear that, Em? You’re going to get a new cousin...”

 

Emily giggled, spraying bits of mashed bananas onto Harry and Ginny, who simply laughed as they toweled themselves off, and continued to read the letter. Hermione apologised profusely in it for not being able to deliver the news in person--her duties at the Ministry these days had kept her far too busy for travel--but promised to visit as soon as she and Ron possibly could.

 

“Well, if she can’t come here,” Ginny said, “we should go see them... What do you say, Harry? End-of-year exams will be over next week--we could take the next train after the banquet.” She laughed, then added, “I bet Ron’s dying to ask you for tips on fatherhood. He’s probably scared to death.”

 

They had not seen Ron and Hermione since the Christmas holidays, and excited at the prospect of seeing his best friends again, Harry agreed. At the end of spring term at Hogwarts, he, Ginny, and Emily took the train to King’s Cross and traveled to the small, semi-hidden village where Ron and Hermione had settled after they married two years ago.

 

Harry could hardly wait to congratulate both of them, not to mention reassure Ron, who he suspected was probably as anxious over the prospect of becoming a father as Harry had been when Ginny was pregnant. Ron, though, had been oddly formal with him during the entire visit--enough to make him take notice, but not enough for Ginny or Hermione to pick up on it.

 

In retrospect, Harry should have said something then. But Ginny had assured him that Ron was probably just overwhelmed by everything, and Harry decided that perhaps he had just been reading too much into things.

 

But now he wished he had spoken up earlier.

 

“Hermione, where are you...”

 

The wind had begun to pick up outside, causing branches to smash against the windows, and the sound of glass rattling only made him more antsy. He glanced at his wristwatch; it was only ten after five, but he had arrived earlier than the designated time in the hopes of catching Hermione, and it seemed as if an eternity had passed since he’d gotten here.

 

Helplessly, his eyes wandered down to her letter once more, the words, “You have to help me Harry--you’re the only one who’ll understand” sending a shiver up his spine. He had done as Hermione had asked, keeping this from Ginny, though he hated keeping her in the dark over something. He knew she would be worried sick if she knew something was wrong with Ron.

 

He certainly was.

 

A voice startled him from his frazzled thoughts.

  
”Harry?”

 

He turned around and saw her in her Ministry robes, eyes bloodshot from crying, and without hesitation, he crossed the room to take her in his arms. She collapsed into sobs as soon as he held her, and all he could do was let her get it all out.

 

“Hermione,” he said gently, for he needed to know, “what’s happened to Ron?”

 

* ~ *

 

 

_He knew she wasn’t asleep yet when he walked into their dark bedroom and found her lying in bed already; he could tell from the way she was breathing that she was still awake, but didn’t want to fight with him. He didn’t want to fight with her either._

_She was lying on her side, her back to him when he lay down beside her. Gently, he ran a hand down her arm, waiting for a sign that she wouldn’t push him away, and after a few moments, she slid her hand on top of his, interlacing their fingers. With his other hand, he brushed her hair away from her face, and finally placed a light kiss on her temple._

_“I’m sorry.” _

_He heard her draw a shaky breath, then say, “Me, too.” _

_For a few moments, neither of them said anything, and finally, she shifted her position to face him. He brought a hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “Blimey,” he whispered, “I hate seeing you cry.” _

_She let out a small laugh. “You should,” she said. “Since you’re the reason, more often than not.”_

_He laughed along with her, grateful that they seemed to have made up after their earlier fight, guilty at the knowledge that though she had only been teasing him, it was probably true._

_As if reading his mind, Hermione lifted his chin so their eyes met once more and smiled. “Hey,” she said, “I was only joking.”_

_“Hermione, am I...”_

_“What?”_

_“Am I a terrible husband?”_

_“Oh Ron, you know I didn’t mean what I said--you don’t go around making me cry, I was just-”_

_“No, it’s not about that, it’s...” he broke off, suddenly realising how close he had come to letting something slip that he could not afford to let slip. _

_“Is this about the baby?” she said._

_“The baby? What d’you mean?”_

_“Look, Harry told me you’d be anxious about becoming a father... that you’d have fears... And Ron, that’s okay, because I’ve got those same fears too.” _

_She sat up and leaned against the headboard. Ron propped himself up on his elbow to look up at her as she spoke._

_“I worry about what kind of a mum I’ll be too, Ron. I mean, this isn’t like revising for the O.W.L.s... I can read all the books on pregnancy and parenthood I can, but I don’t know how I’ll do...”_

_Ron gave her his lop-sided grin. “You’ll ace motherhood, just like you’ve aced everything in your life. Including...” He reached up to kiss her on the lips. “... being the best wife in the world.”_

_Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the blush that crept along her cheeks. “Really?”_

_“Who else would put up with a bloke who’s gone so much of the time?”_

_She laughed. “Well,” she said, leaning in close so that he could feel her breath on his face, “you’re not so bad yourself.” She kissed him and added just before she turned over to her other side, “Even if you are gone so much of the time.”_

_“I love you, Hermione Weasley.” _

_“I love you too.”_

_* * *_

_It was well after midnight when he woke. His forearm was burning, stinging so badly that it took all of his strength not to curse out loud and wake Hermione. Checking to make sure that she was still soundly asleep, he slipped out of bed and left their room._

_He walked in darkness, knowing that if he turned on any light in the house, Hermione would surely awaken. In time, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he found himself standing in front of the fireplace. His eyes went instinctively up to the mantel, where Hermione had placed various photographs, Wizard and Muggle ones alike. It was the photograph next to the one of him and Hermione on their wedding day that caught his eye in particular. It was one of him and Harry in their seventh year, taken just after Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. They were both sweaty and out-of-sorts in the photograph--Harry from a hard-fought game; Ron from celebrating himself hoarse in the stands. That was the year he had been made an alternate on the house team, though he never did get to play in a game that season. They looked like a pair of giddy fools in the frame, laughing and waving, and both pumping their fists in the air._

_Ron had just picked up the photograph when a fresh wave of pain knifed him in the forearm again. Startled by it, he dropped the frame, breaking the glass. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, listening for any sounds coming from the bedroom. But moments passed, and Ron realized Hermione hadn’t woken after all. He bent down to pick up the frame and the remnants of glass off the floor and set them aside on the table for repair later. His arm was beckoning him at the moment; he rubbed at it, clutching his forearm as if the mere action would stop it from burning, though he knew it was useless._

_He stared at it, waiting for the tell-tale mark to appear. And it then did. _

_Slowly, like ink spreading on the inside of his forearm, a picture of a skull materialised. The sight of it still felt foreign to him, as if he were looking at another man’s arm, but nevertheless he had conditioned himself not to make a sound when it showed itself._

_He knew what it meant._

_“Ron?”_

_He gasped slightly, turning around to see Hermione staring at him, worried. _

_“Are you all right?”_

_“Hermione,” he said, pulling down the sleeve of his pyjama top to conceal the mark for good measure, though he knew it would have disappeared by now. “What’re you doing up?”_

_“I saw you weren’t in bed anymore, so I thought I’d see where you were...” She walked over to him, noticing the broken frame on the table as she passed it, then looked at him. “Ron, is... is everything OK?”_

_He took a deep breath, and took her hand. “Hermione,” he said, “I have to go away again.” _

_She didn’t say anything at first, but she didn’t take her hand out of Ron’s either, which gave him some encouragement. Still, there was no way around it; he didn’t know how she could not be furious with him at that moment. He had only just come back a few days ago, and now he had to leave again._

_How could he keep doing this to her?_

_“Hermione, say something,” he said softly. “Please...”_

_“What do you want me to say, Ron?”_

_“I... I dunno... anything... Tell me you’re angry at me, tell me you hate me, just.. please don’t stop talking to me...” _

_He finally let go of her hand and tentatively cupped her face. She didn’t protest, and in fact came closer, tilting her head up to look at him._

_“Please just don’t stop talking to me,” he said, “because I couldn’t take that. It would drive me mad...”_

_“You know I could never do that Ron. It’d be like cutting off my arm-”_

_She laughed shakily, as if embarrassed at how the words sounded, but to Ron, it sounded like poetry. He smiled and kissed her forehead._

_“Well good, I’m glad we established that, then.”_

_After a while, she said, “Ron... Why do you have to go again?”_

_Part of him was tempted to just reveal everything to her right then and there, then all this lying and secrecy could finally come to an end. But he knew he couldn’t. Not if it meant she’d be in danger as well._

_“You know I can’t tell you, Hermione... I’d give anything to be able to, but-”_

_“Damn it!”_

_She pushed him off her and turned her back to him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading them, and said, “I’ve been a bad influence on you all these years. You’ve even taken to cursing now...”_

_“Will you stop it?” she said, facing him again. “This is not a joke! I am not laughing as you can bloody well see...”_

_He sighed and nodded. “I know. But... Blimey, I don’t know what else to say, Hermione. I don’t.”_

_“How about telling me what this is that keeps taking my husband away from me.”_

_He just shook his head, and finally took his eyes off her, unable to stand seeing her in so much pain. Why did things have to be this way?_

_She slipped her hand in his, interlacing their fingers, and said, “Just tell me one thing, then.”_

_“What?”_

_“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”_

_He could have lied, to spare her the agony, but he decided not to._

_“Yes,” he said quietly._

_She took a deep breath, clearly doing so to hold back her tears, then kissed him, burying her fingers in his hair and pressing him so close to her that it made him ache to break contact._

_“Please be careful,” she whispered. “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t come back to me.”_

_He smiled, brushing away a lock of her hair from her forehead, and kissed her again. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”_ __


	3. Chapter 3

She eased herself off him, and Harry repeated the question.

 

“What’s happened to Ron? This is about Ron, isn’t it, Hermione?”

 

She nodded, and he could see she was trying to be strong for him, but her effort showed. “Harry, I don’t have much time... The Ministry...” she shook her head, as if wondering what should come next, but then she continued. “Sylvan Wentworth--you know him, don’t you, Harry?”

 

Harry nodded. “Of course, Ron’s boss.”

 

“He came to the house five days ago. He said he needed to see Ron, that it was urgent, but Ron had gone away two weeks ago. I thought he would know that, but then he just went pale and told me to sit down because he needed to talk to me...”

 

“But how could he not know that Ron was gone?”

 

“Because... what Ron was working on wasn’t authorised by the Ministry...”

 

Harry felt like the air in his lungs had seeped out. No... Not Ron. Not Ron... Somehow, he knew what Hermione was about to tell him.

 

“He told me that he had noticed some strange behavior on Ron’s part--unexplained absences, secrecy... He...”

 

Hermione broke off again; this was clearly difficult for her. Harry put a hand on her shoulder for reassurance, though he didn’t know what good that would do.

 

“Ron’s been suspected of treason,” she finally said.

 

Hearing it said out loud didn’t make Harry’s suspicions any easier to digest. He shut his eyes and tried to strengthen his resolve; Hermione needed him to be strong.

 

“Harry, they think he’s joined...”

 

He could tell she didn’t want to say the name, but eventually, she did.

 

“They think he’s joined Voldemort.” She looked up at him, eyes filled with unspeakable pain. “They’re going to hunt him down, Harry, no holds barred. They’re going to send the Dementors out for him, and he won’t just be sent to Azkaban--they’ve authorised a Dementor’s Kiss on him...”

 

Harry took her in his arms again and held her as she began to cry, but she pushed off him gently.

 

“He didn’t do it. They’re wrong, I know they are...”

 

She looked at him, and her eyes flashed with pain once more. “Oh God, Harry, don’t tell me you believe them! You _know_ Ron! You know he’d rather die than betray us!”

 

“I... I know...”

 

But he wondered if he really did know. He thought back to Ron’s coolness towards him during their last visit, but he shoved the thought out of his mind.

 

“Please tell me you’re on my side, Harry. There’s no one else I can turn to... Dumbledore would have been the only other person who would have believed Ron was innocent, but now he’s gone... Harry, I refuse to let my child grow up thinking his father is a traitor. So either you help me, or...”

 

He didn’t let her finish her sentence. With a solemn nod, he said, “You can count on me, Hermione.”

 

“Good. Because I bought us some time. Not much, but I will take what I can get...”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I managed to convince the Ministry to let me find him myself. I told them I could convince him to come home from whatever this is that he’s doing and we’ll prove that he’s innocent. They gave me a week to find him and they would keep this quiet until I do, but if I don’t bring him back...”

 

Harry made a motion to put his hand on her shoulder, but she refused it.

 

“We’ve got two days, Harry. Two days to find him and bring him home, before...”

 

He took a deep breath before he said what he was about to say. He knew Hermione wouldn’t want to hear this, but he had to tell her. “Not _we_,” he said.

 

“What?”

 

“_We_ won’t do anything. _I_ am going to look for him-”

 

“Oh no, you don’t-”

 

“No, _you_ don’t, Hermione. Listen to me, you are pregnant! Now I know that doesn’t make you an invalid, but that doesn’t mean you can go around playing hero, either.”

 

“This is not your decision, Harry. He’s _my_ husband-”

 

“And _my_ best friend. As are you, and Ron would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you or the baby. Don’t fight me on this one, Hermione. You won’t be able to bully me on this. Not this.”

 

She managed a weak smile in spite of herself, and even Harry released a small chuckle.

 

“I do not bully you,” she said quietly.

 

“Not all the time, anyway.”

 

“What would you and Ron do without me, though?”

 

He smiled and took her in his arms again, squeezing her tightly, in a silent gesture to let her know that somehow they would make this right. “I don’t ever want to know,” he said.

 

 

* ~ *

 

 

_He had been in the Forbidden Forest only a few times in his life, and he had hoped he would never have to come here again. In the distance, he could hear werewolves howling, and though the sound would have normally unnerved him, the matter at hand weighed far more heavily on his mind._

_“You picked a dangerous place to meet, Weasley,” came a voice that had been familiar to him for over twelve years now. “You know what lurks in these woods.”_

_Ron tensed his jaw. “Voldemort isn’t here, you know that,” he said. “And I had no other choice--I can’t apparate anywhere on these grounds, and it would be far more dangerous to meet in the castle. Harry could have seen us-”_

_Snape’s thin mouth bent into a smile. “Ah yes,” he said, “what would happen indeed if the Defense Against Dark Arts professor caught the Dark Mark on his own best friend’s arm...” _

_“Shut up!”_

_“Tsk, tsk... Manners, Weasley. But then, you never did have them, did you?”_

_Ron was seething inside, but he would be damned if he let Snape catch on. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “It makes me sick, every time I see it!” he said. “I never should have agreed to this--never!”_

_“You are just as short-sighted now as you were as a student!” Snape said, obviously disgusted with him. Ron didn’t care. “Do you actually think your _traditional_ methods will ever reel him in?”_

_Ron let out a derisive laugh. “What was I thinking trusting you... For God’s sake, you were linked to him all those years! When you never came back in our fifth year, I made a decision right then and there. You’re the reason I became an Auror, did you know that?” He came closer to Snape; it gave him a strange sense of triumph to see Snape slightly flinch at his height as he looked down on him. “I became an Auror just to have the pleasure of catching you-”_

_“And you almost made the biggest mistake of your life,” he hissed. “You almost cost me eight years of hard work-”_

_“Maverick work!”_

_“_Effective_ work!! Why do you think Voldemort never unleashed the fury everyone had been expecting him to since he came back to life?”_

_Ron was still unused to hearing Voldemort’s name being said out loud; only Harry had ever done so, but now he did as well._

_“Why else hasn’t he gotten to your precious Potter yet, Weasley, if I hadn’t been holding him back, making him believe there would be a better time in the future--a better time to truly make his mark?”_

_“Why should I believe you!!” Ron spat back, but he knew Snape spoke the truth._

_“Because you can’t run away from what’s true, not when it’s right in front of your face.” He reached over and grabbed Ron’s arm, holding it up. “This,” he said, pointing to the spot where Ron knew the mark would appear again soon, “is what’s going to help you get him at last. You knew that going into this, Weasley.”_

_Ron ripped his arm out of Snape’s grasp and pulled the sleeve of his robe over the exposed forearm, then turned his back to Snape. _

_“If you’re wavering even one little bit, might I remind you that there is absolutely nothing stopping Voldemort from going after your family.” He came up behind Ron and taunted in his ear, “Your wife is about to have a baby, isn’t she?”_

_It was all Ron could do not to whip around and grab Snape by the throat for daring to speak of Hermione. “Don’t you ever bring her up again, Snape,” he said through gritted teeth. _

_Snape seemed to have gotten the reaction he wanted though. He backed off and laughed. “I thought that might bring you to your senses,” he said. _

_For a long time, Ron stood silent, then he faced Snape again and said quietly, “Why me? Why did you pick me to do this?”_

_Snape stopped laughing and looked back at him, stone-faced once more. “He was beginning to question my loyalty,” he said matter-of-factly. “And if I delivered him the Ministry’s top Auror, he’d have no reason to doubt it again, would he? Especially when the Ministry’s top Auror is Harry Potter’s best friend--his loyal sidekick over the years, overshadowed by every great deed ever accomplished by him...”_

_Ron felt his jaw clench again._

_“There must have been a part of you that’s always resented him, hasn’t there, Weasley?”_

_Ron refused to answer, but Snape took his silence as affirmation, and smirked with delight. “Voldemort certainly believed so,” he said. “It wasn’t difficult at all to persuade him that you had joined our side.”_

_This was almost more than he could take; if he didn’t leave now, the rage inside him would surely combust at any second._

_“I told you from the beginning there would be no halfway, Weasley.” He came up to him again, apparently no longer intimidated by Ron’s size. “You agreed to do it, and I will be damned before I let you ruin what I’ve worked so hard for all these years, do you understand?”_

_With strained effort, Ron answered, “Perfectly.”_

_Snape nodded. “I gave Dumbledore my word,” he said, “and I will not let him down. The Order of the Phoenix lives on.”_ __


	4. Chapter 4

Harry didn’t know how he had got through the rest of the morning after Hermione had Disapparated. The minutes and hours since seemed to run away from him, and the five classes of boisterous students and the seemingly endless Quidditch practice he’d been asked to supervise afterwards all seemed to blend together in one hazy, indistinguishable blur.

 

It had to have been nothing short of a miracle for him to have navigated through it all, with his mind a complete jumble; he didn’t know how he could have managed it without someone setting him aside and asking him if everything was all right.

 

Because Merlin knew it wasn’t.

 

The inviting aroma of beef stew filled his nostrils when walked in the house. He spotted Ginny--who had come home hours earlier than he did, after her last Charms class of the day--napping on the couch, and the pot that she had bewitched to cook dinner was simmering over a low fire in the kitchen. Emily was laying on top of her chest, Ginny holding her lovingly as she slept.

 

The baby must have woken when she heard him enter; she looked up at him with her round green eyes, watching him watch her, then smiled. Harry felt the ice around his heart melt away, and he picked her up as gently as he could so Ginny could keep sleeping.

 

“Hello there,” he whispered, chuckling slightly at her sleep-tousled auburn curls. He reached into his robes for his wand, and said, “Reparo,” trying to make her hair lie flat and succeeding for about a millisecond, before several disobedient curls sprang up again like well-timed coils. “Hmm, like father, like daughter, I guess, eh?”

 

She giggled, as if understanding the joke, and Harry, relishing this moment with her after everything that had happened, kissed her forehead and held her close. After a while, he told her, “Come on... Mummy seems a bit tired right now, so we’ll just let her sleep, all right? Let’s go give and you your bath...”

 

He led her up the stairs and into the bathroom, his mind involuntarily wandering back to Ron and Hermione as he watched the tub fill with water and a rainbow of different-sized bubbles, and he wondered whether Ron would ever get to have this kind of experience with his son or daughter. He shook his head immediately, as if that would physically expel the thought from his mind. “I’ll find him,” he muttered. “Everything’s going to be fine... I promised Hermione, and I’m going to make sure of it...”

 

Emily was looking at him quizzically. He smiled at her and began washing her hair, suds sliding down her cheeks, but magically avoiding her eyes. He was grateful she was far too young to understand any of this, or perhaps she wasn’t--she was still staring at him, as if waiting for some sort of explanation from him. It was not unlike a look Hermione would give him and Ron at times, when she was expecting them to elaborate on something.

 

“I reckon I’m not much like myself tonight, am I, Em?” he said finally, and he could have sworn he saw her nod slightly, making him laugh. “Sorry ‘bout that. Daddy’s got a lot on his mind, I guess...”

 

Her eyes never left his, not while he rinsed her, or dried her, or put her in her nightgown. Finally he set her down in her crib, and he hovered over her, chin resting on the side of the crib as he looked at her. She had gotten sleepy once more, her breathing beginning to slow down as she closed her eyes. He reached down and gently caressed her cheek.

 

“Uncle Ron’s in trouble,” he found himself saying to her. He didn’t know why he was telling her this, except he found that he had to tell someone. Part of him wished she could answer him back right now.

 

“You know Uncle Ron--he’s your godfather, remember? The tall man with red hair, just like Mummy? You love him, and I know he loves you very much. Every time he sees you, he holds you up in the air and pretends to make you fly... I know he’d love to see you again soon, but... he’s in trouble right now... Daddy has to help him.”

 

She was completely asleep now, but Harry continued to stand by her crib, watching her. Quietly, he said, “I have to leave you and Mummy for a little bit. I wish I didn’t have to, but it’s very important...”

 

“Harry?”

 

Ginny was standing by the door, leaning against the jamb. Checking one more time to see that Emily was still asleep, he took Ginny’s hand and led her outside Emily’s room, hoping she hadn’t heard what he had been saying about Ron.

 

“Harry, what was that you were saying just now?” she said. “What’s this about you leaving me and Em for a while?”

 

Relief washed over him momentarily; she hadn’t heard about Ron after all.

 

“It’s...”

 

He sighed, wishing he could tell her, but remembering his promise to Hermione to keep anyone from finding out.

 

“Ginny, I wish I could tell you--I do. But... I can’t. Please try to understand... My hands are tied.”

 

“Does this have anything to do with you having to leave so early this morning?”

 

Without a word, he nodded.

 

She took her eyes off him and folded her arms over her chest. “I won’t ask you anything more,” she said, and Harry wondered if she already suspected what this was about. “Just... please promise me one thing?”

 

“Anything,” he whispered, cupping her face in his hands.

 

“Be careful.” She kissed him, and before she walked away, she said, “All of you.”

 

 

* ~ *

 

 

_Everywhere inside the Riddle House was cold, even near the fireplace where a fire was burning, casting an eerie glow over the room. Though the flames rose high, crackling and popping madly over the slowly decaying logs, still the house seemed dark, as if no amount of light could ever fill it with brightness, or warmth, or comfort. _

_On the far wall, Ron saw shadows dancing: shadows from the flames themselves, and his own shadow standing just beside the great armchair by the fireplace. _

_Then he saw yet another shadow come up behind him. Icewater traveled up his spine at the sight of it, for he knew who it was, and he slowly turned around._

_“My Lord,” he said, his stomach writhing inside. He wanted to cut his tongue out for ever having to say the words. “You called for me?”_

_That smile alone could inspire chills in the bravest of Wizards, but Ron managed somehow to keep his heart from bursting through his ribs. This wasn’t fear he felt anyway; it was pure, unadulterated anger. Anger at this monster having hurt so many in his path to destruction, at having made Harry to live in the shadow of loss and looming peril his entire life. _

_At having been made to lie to his own wife and be away from her at what should have been the happiest time in his life._

Damn you_, he thought, looking at Voldemort and feeling utter disgust in his throat. _How many more lives will you ruin before you’re brought to justice?__

_“Yes, I needed my prize disciple at my side.”_

_Ron fought hard to keep from twitching at his words. _

_“I am here,” he said._

_Voldemort narrowed his eyes, as if in appraisal. “I’ve heard that our friends have once again evaded capture,” he said, his voice dripping with sheer delight. “Well done, my Knight...”_

_It made him ill to hear Voldemort call him that, but he said nothing in order to avoid any suspicion._

_“But I grow tired of waiting...”_

_He sighed, and walked slowly towards the armchair, the hem of his robes rustling softly as it swept the floor, then sat, facing the fire. Ron watched him as he sat, fixated by the flames; he looked like every bit of the madman he was. He started to speak again, and though he was not looking at Ron, he still felt as if Voldemort could see right through him. _

_“Eight years I have waited,” he was saying. “Eight years since I drank the blood of my enemy, and I have counted every second since, waiting for the right moment to pounce...”_

_Ron’s fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily. He prayed Voldemort had not seen this from his periphery. _

_“Snape never thought it was the right time, but my patience has worn thin over the years, my Knight.” He looked at Ron, and in that moment, Ron felt as if he were staring into the eyes of a Basilisk. “As long as Harry Potter roams this earth, I will not be able realise my full plan.”_

_“My Lord, your powers have grown strong over the years. Surely he will no longer be of any threat to you.”_

_He smiled coldly, a smile that unnerved Ron. “Do your old loyalties linger?” he said knowingly, then he pursed his lips. “Well even if they do, it should make no difference, should it?” _

_When Ron didn’t answer, he laughed, obviously thinking he had read Ron fairly accurately. _

_“Yes, jealousy is a powerful thing, isn’t it, Weasley?”_

_Ron could not keep his shoulders from tensing at these words, and Voldemort mistakenly took that as a sign that he was right._

_“Tell me,” he said, and his voice sliced into him with its arrogance, “how long would you have continued to live in the shadows before you had taken matters into your own hands?”_

_Almost choking on the words, Ron said, “That is why I came to you.”_

_Voldemort laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I know.” _

_He looked back into the fire again. Ron saw him take out his wand and point it at the flames, making them rise even higher so that their shadows were almost as tall as his._

_“You were the greater one, Weasley,” he said, without looking at Ron. “Potter’s fame deluded everyone into thinking he was special, but he wasn’t. You are the Pureblood--he’s nothing but the son of a Mudblood.”_

_Ron had to hold his breath to keep from cursing at him._

_“The Heir of Gryffindor, one step away from being a Mudblood...” He laughed as he watched the flames. “The universe has a sense of humor.”_

You’re half-Muggle, you bastard_, Ron thought. _Harry’s purer than you will ever be_..._

_“You know why I’ve asked you here, don’t you, my Knight?” He looked at Ron, pure venom in his smile. “You must have known this day would come eventually, when I would ask you to do this task for me.”_

_“What would you have me do, my Lord?”_

_“Simple,” he said. “Find Harry Potter, and bring him to me.”_


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione had managed to smuggle some information from the Ministry after pleading with the officials to let her be the one to find Ron first. Everything she had got her hands on, she passed on to Harry when they met yesterday: reports of Ron being seen by Wizards since he’d left Hermione two weeks ago in various locations, even some Muggle villages, the most recent of which had been a town called Little Hangleton. Ron had been spotted there two days ago.

 

Harry knew he was running out of time; he had to find Ron by tomorrow or the Ministry would set out to find him itself, no doubt sending its top Aurors, and, thought Harry with a shudder at the memory of being in their presence, countless Dementors all waiting to descend upon Ron and steal away his very soul. But he needed to do just one more thing before setting off for Little Hangleton.

 

After Dumbledore’s death two years ago, two unexpected gifts had been bequeathed to him: Godric Gryffindor’s sword, which he had pulled out of the sorting hat when he rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago, and something he had never seen before he inherited it.

 

An oracle.

 

It had come with a small note attached to it when he received it. Harry remembered smiling upon seeing Dumbledore’s handwriting again, for it had only been days since he passed away when Harry got the oracle. He was to use it, Dumbledore told him, when he needed information that could not be obtained in any other way.

 

At the time, the instructions seemed rather cryptic and vague, and Harry kept it safely hidden away ever since, locked up in a cabinet in his office, away from Emily’s curious hands, and the prying eyes of his students.

 

But he could think of no better occasion to use it than at this very moment. If Ron had indeed been wrongly accused of treason, then what had he got involved in?

 

The very idea of Ron joining Voldemort still seemed unfathomable to Harry’s brain. Hermione was right; this was Ron. Ron Weasley, whom he had known for over half his life, who had stood by him through every trial and tribulation he had faced, who had stood by his side when he married Ginny. 

 

Who had been so much more than a best friend to him; he had been a brother.

 

How could he have ever doubted him for a second?

 

He set the oracle down on the desk and stared into it. It looked very much like a looking glass at first glance, a small looking glass set on a tripod that reminded Harry somewhat of the full-length one in his and Ginny’s bedroom. But it was no ordinary mirror--instead of solid glass, it was made of a swirling, silvery substance, like the semi-liquid substance he had once seen in Dumbledore’s pensieve.

 

Unsure how to use it exactly, he thought he would simply ask it to reveal something to him.

 

“Show me...” He hesitated. Show him what, exactly? “Show me what Ron has been doing...”

 

The oracle obeyed, its surface swirling faster and faster, then beginning to form images. Harry could make out a room, with a fire in the hearth, and a great big armchair beside it. The room looked strangely familiar, then he realized with a start where he had seen it before: in a dream he had had nine years ago, about Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew plotting to kill him.

 

It was the same exact room; Harry remembered the chills he felt when he had seen it in his dream. Except Peter was not the one who was there, and suddenly a sick gnawing in Harry’s stomach intensified as he realised that the oracle had shown him this room after he had asked about Ron.

 

The person standing in front of the fireplace--the tall, lanky figure with the tell-tale ginger-hued hair--was Ron. There was no mistaking it. Someone was sitting in the arm-chair, which had been turned to face the fire, and as soon as he heard the voice, he knew who it was.

 

“You know why I’ve asked you here, don’t you, my Knight?” 

 

Ron was standing there in silence, as if awaiting his orders.

 

“You must have known this day would come eventually, when I would ask you to do this task for me.”

 

“What would you have me do, my Lord?”

 

“Simple. Find Harry Potter, and bring him to me.”

 

The image disappeared abruptly, leaving Harry dazed, and every cell in his body tingling.

 

_God, no_, he thought. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have just seen what he did. Hermione had been so sure--so had he. They would have bet their lives that Ron would never betray them this way, and yet had the oracle deceived him? How else could those images be explained?

 

A slow burn built up inside him, rising to the surface.

 

“NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

He could not scream loud enough, or hard enough. He had never felt pain like this, not even in the many times he had almost died. “I thought you were my friend!” he shouted, and he realized that he was crying. “Damn it, we were best friends!!”

 

He stared hard into the oracle again, but it showed him no more images. His mind was spinning, as if he had lost his centre of gravity, or anything that had ever steadied him in his life. He sank down onto his chair, thinking of how he could ever tell Hermione what he had just seen. It would kill her. It would kill Ginny, and Ron’s parents and brothers.

 

It already killed him.

 

His eyes wandered to the far corner of his desk, where he had kept a chess board, a gift from Ron when they had graduated from Hogwarts, and he reached over and swept it and all the pieces off the desk, with such a force that some of the pieces smashed into the wall.

 

One remained intact, though, the black knight. He looked at it, and then a realization began to dawn on him.

 

_My Knight_, Voldemort had called him.

 

_Oh my God_...

 

Suddenly it all became clear to him. He flashed back to that fateful night eleven years ago, when Ron had done something he never would have expected.

 

“Yes,” he had said. Harry could still remember the look on his face when he made his decision. “It’s the only way... I’ve got to be taken...”

 

Harry’s heart drummed wildly in his chest.

 

Ron was going to sacrifice himself again.

 

 

* ~ *

 

 

_He had known this was coming. In truth, he had been expecting this since the day he found Snape, and Snape had offered him the tantalising promise that there was a way to get Voldemort once and for all. The prospect had been far too tempting to refuse, especially for someone who had had to watch his best friend be haunted by the knowledge that his life would always be in danger; who had suffered with him over the years and vowed one day to rid everyone in the Wizarding world of its paralysing fear. Still, he couldn’t help but think in the months since that he had effectively sold his soul to the devil._

_Especially now._

_But looking back on it, he was surprised it had taken this long for Voldemort to ask for this. Ron had been waiting for him to utter Harry’s name ever since he claimed his allegiance to the dark Wizard, and yet, despite the last six years of seeing with his own eyes just what kind of evil people were capable of, hearing Voldemort say the actual words, “Find Harry Potter, and bring him to me,” shook Ron to the very core._

_Now the time had come for the final part of the plan--the part he had been dreading all these many months, but the part that was most crucial of all. The one that had to come to pass for any of this madness to be worth the sacrifice. _

_He gripped the quill in his hand and stared hard at the parchment for a long, long time. Then, he slowly drew breath and began to write:_

Beware, a traitor walks among you. Ron Weasley has

betrayed his loyalties and joined the Dark Lord.

 

Find him, and you shall find Voldemort as well.

 

_He rolled up the piece of paper and called the owl perched on the windowsill over to him. As he tied the letter to its leg, he said nothing, thought nothing, tried as hard as he could to feel nothing as well._

_It would not be long before the Ministry would get this letter, and Sylvan Wentworth would surely try to find him after reading it. In his mind, he’d had it all worked out: Voldemort had given him a week to find Harry, so he would let himself “be sighted” at various inns and taverns, guiding the Aurors on his trail, leading them finally to the Riddle House._

_To Voldemort himself._

_There was no doubt in his mind what this would mean for him once they were caught. The Ministry would authorize a Dementor’s Kiss on him; even he would never recommend mere imprisonment in Azkaban for a treason of this magnitude. But if this led to Voldemort’s capture as well, then it would be worth the price he’d have to pay, even a price this high._

_Even at the cost of throwing away any chance of ever seeing Hermione again, or seeing their child be born._

But you’ll be able live in freedom at last_, he thought. Y_ou won’t have anything more to fear_._

_He remembered her touch, the last time they had kissed before he left, when she had told him to be careful, though he knew she was angry at him having to leave her again. Inside, he cursed Voldemort once more. _

_How would Hermione remember him? When this was all over, would she believe, just as all the others would, that he had betrayed everything they believed in? Would she hate him, and raise their child to hate his memory as well?_

_And Harry... Would he spend the rest of his life thinking their entire friendship had been a lie? He had distanced himself from him over the last few months, unable to face him after having gone to the Dark Lord, but in all that time, he had never ceased to think of Harry as a brother. Would he still think of him that way as well?_

_But it was too late to tell anyone the truth now--he knew that. Not when everything depended on the Aurors finding Voldemort in his presence. Even if he did tell the Ministry everything, that he had been a spy all along, agreeing to help Snape infiltrate Voldemort’s inner circle in order to destroy it from within, he knew there was little chance they would ever believe him. He had the Dark Mark on his arm, something that many in the Ministry--himself included--thought was sacrilege enough to warrant treason, a sin too great to ever be forgotten or forgiven. And he had done this all on his own, without ever confiding in anyone at the Ministry. There would be no one to vouch for him, save Snape whom everyone still believed to be one of Voldemort’s top lieutenants. They would never trust him again._

_Snape had been right. There was no halfway. He had sealed his fate from the moment he ever consented to this. _

_Again, his thoughts strayed to Hermione and Harry. Could he actually go through with this, knowing that he would forever be a traitor in their eyes? The answer was clear, and he made a decision. _

_He picked up the quill, but this time, instead of writing words, he drew on the paper. He drew the image of a chess piece, his favorite one of all: the knight. And on the bottom of the parchment, he wrote:_

Harry, you will know what this means. I am

so sorry it had to be this way...

 

Tell Hermione I love her...__

_Once the owl returned to him, he would tell it to hold on to this letter. It would not be too much longer before he’d be captured, and then Hermione and Harry would know the truth at last. _

_Sirius Black came to mind in that moment. He remembered the gaunt, pale face, haunted by years of being believed by all to be a murderer. Ron realized he now knew exactly how Sirius must have felt back then, the entire time he had been on the run, knowing that at any second what awaited him was a Dementor’s Kiss._

_He struggled to keep his emotions in check, but despite the effort, they only fought to push to the surface. Images of his past flashed in his mind: meeting Harry for the first time at King’s Cross; defeating the troll with him and Hermione; flying to Hogwarts with Harry in the flying Ford Anglia; his first kiss with Hermione; his wedding day; congratulating Harry on Emily’s birth; Hermione telling him she was pregnant..._

_He shut his eyes to keep them from flooding his brain, but still they kept coming, one by one, until at last he buried his head in his hands and wept._

This had to be done_, he told himself. _There was no other way_. _


	6. Chapter 6

The smoke inside the alehouse stung Harry’s eyes and rendered him practically blind. Taking his glasses on and off did not seem to help much either, though he was grateful he could at least make out enough of the shapes in the room to see faces as well.

 

He scanned the bar and the tables and booths scattered about the room, breathing only when he needed to, for the air in here made him nauseous. _The Lone Rider_ had been where Ron was last sighted, according to a Ministry report, and he was hoping against hope that Ron had not moved on to another town just yet.

 

He also hoped he wasn’t already too late. Even if the Dementors hadn’t already gotten to him, Voldemort was a ticking time bomb as well, and Harry knew full well that the Dark Lord would spare no mercy if he discovered Ron had been lying to him all this time.

 

A familiar voice caught his attention. He turned his head towards the bar and saw a tall man dressed in a black cloak, leaning over towards the barkeep. The man’s hood was down, and even in the thick smoke, there was no mistaking the bright red hair.

 

“Ron...”

 

He heard him speaking to the barkeep, ordering a drink.

 

“A Guinness, mate,” he was saying.

 

Harry had to smile in spite of himself; apparently Ron had retained enough from Muggle Studies in their seventh year to remember to order a proper Muggle drink. He watched him from a few feet away, squinting his eyes as Ron took out his money. He seemed to have become familiar with Muggle currency too.

 

“This one’s on me, mate,” Harry said to the barkeep, throwing down a few pound coins onto the bar. “And I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

 

The barkeep grunted in affirmation, and fetched them their drinks. Harry turned beside him to a stunned Ron, who seemed to be fighting a raging battle internally not to show his shock in front of the other patrons.

 

But there was no doubt in the world Harry had taken him by surprise.

 

The barkeep returned with their drinks a few moments later, slamming the glass mugs so hard on the bar that they splattered slightly on Harry and Ron. Harry removed his glasses and began to wipe them on his sleeve, while Ron remained speechless and looked away to avoid his gaze.

 

He started to edge away from the bar, but Harry caught him and grabbed hold of his arm.

 

“We have to talk,” he muttered.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ron hissed back, tearing his arm away.

 

“Outside,” he said, undeterred. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

He took his mug and made his way through the crowded room, finally escaping into the cold night air. He stood there for what seemed like a very long time, watching his breath form into clouds of mist, and watching the door, waiting for Ron to come out.

 

He didn’t.

 

For a while, it seemed Ron never would, and Harry began to curse under his breath for being so stupid and trusting as to let Ron out of his sight. He threw down his mug on the ground and started to go back in, when he heard Ron’s voice from the nearby wooded area.

 

“Over here...”

 

Harry looked about, making sure no one was around to see this, and walked over to where Ron stood.

 

“Thank God you came to your senses,” Harry said.

 

Ron pulled him deeper into the woods, far enough that they were hidden away from the Muggles, then released his arm rather roughly. “Blimey, Harry, what the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Wonderful to see you too,” Harry said. “Thanks for the warm welcome-”

 

“This isn’t a joke!” Ron shot back. “You shouldn’t... you shouldn’t be here... The Ministry...”

 

He hardly stood still as he talked, swerving his head about in every direction, as if expecting someone to walk in on them.

 

“I can’t believe this,” he was muttering. He turned to Harry again. “Answer me, what are you doing here? The Ministry couldn’t have sent you... They... they wouldn’t have...”

 

At this, Harry smiled triumphantly. “Expecting someone else, Ron?”

 

Ron didn’t answer, but Harry saw his upper lip twitch slightly, and he knew he was right.

 

“Perhaps you were expecting the Dementors?”

 

He stared at him, waiting for him to answer. Finally, Ron did.

 

“It’s only a matter of time,” he said. “Damn it, don’t you see, Harry? This isn’t a game! They’ll be after me any day now-”

 

“And why is that?” Harry wanted him to admit it. He wanted him to say the words aloud, to erase any doubt that had ever existed, about whose side he had been on all along.

 

But Ron seemed to know exactly what he was trying to do.

 

“Do you really want to hear that your best friend is a Death Eater?” he said.

 

The words sliced into Harry, though he had braced himself for them.

 

“Go home, Harry. Go home before they get here and you have to hear the ugly truth about me.”

 

“Oh come off it, Ron!” Harry shouted at him. “I already know what the truth is. And I’ve come here to take you back where you belong--with your wife, who’s about to have a nervous breakdown!”

 

He saw Ron tense involuntarily at the words. He started to walk away again, but Harry turned him around to face him.

 

“If you expect me to believe you’ve joined Voldemort-”

 

“Believe what you want to believe, Harry-”

 

“If you’d really joined him,” Harry said, “you wouldn’t be standing here right now with me, like this. You would have brought me over to him by now.” He swallowed hard. “You would have killed me by now.”

 

Ron was quiet for such a long time, that Harry began to wonder whether he was right about this at all. He watched Ron’s face, which seemed to be reflecting the struggle within him.

 

“You’ll ruin everything,” Ron said at last.

 

Harry reached into his pocket and dug something out that he hoped would finally make Ron admit the truth. “Remember this?” he said, holding up the chess piece.

 

Ron eyed it, and comprehension dawned in his eyes.

 

“If I am wrong about this, then I reckon I’ll die for my mistake,” Harry said. “But I know you’d never betray me, just like I would never betray you.”

 

He took Ron’s hand and placed the chess piece in it.

 

“There’s still a way out, Ron. Come back with me, we’ll explain everything to the Ministry... We’ll tell them you were on our side all along, and they’ll find him and destroy him once and for all, and you won’t ever have to get caught in the crossfire. I’ll make this right-”

 

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Ron said. “It’s too much of a risk going back! If Voldemort finds out... if he finds you here with me...” He tossed the knight back to Harry. “I’ll be damned before I let you get yourself killed.”

 

But Harry had heard enough. “What are you trying to prove??” He wasn’t sure what else to say to get Ron to listen to reason. “We already know you’re a hero, damn it! Do you need to die a hero’s death too, Ron??”

 

Ron was still rooted in his spot, showing no signs of going anywhere.

 

“Are you going to make me go back and tell Hermione I could have saved you, but didn’t?” He gripped the knight in his hand, feeling it dig into his palm. “Are you going to make me tell my wife that I let her brother die? What am I going to tell my daughter, Ron? Shall I tell her I let her uncle sacrifice himself? Are you telling me you’d let your own child grow up fatherless because you were too stubborn to turn back before it was too late-”

 

Ron came at him so unexpectedly that he stumbled to the ground.

 

“This is out of my hands!”

 

The pain was so evident in his voice that Harry immediately felt guilty for what he had said.

 

“Go back, Harry,” he said. “Go back before it’s too late-”

 

A sudden laugh interrupted them, bringing a chill to Harry’s skin. He looked up at Ron, whose face had lost all color.

 

“But I’m afraid... it’s already too late, my friends...”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The voice had come from behind him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He was vaguely aware of the rustle of dead leaves as Voldemort approached, but it was a distant, hollow sound next to the almighty throbbing in his eardrums. For a moment, he didn’t know how--or even if--he would ever get to his feet, for he felt as if lead had replaced his bones.

 

And above all else, he felt trapped. So very trapped.

 

In front of him, Ron was standing still, waiting, watching Voldemort as the Dark Lord drew closer, his eyes no longer filled with dread and horror as they had been only seconds earlier, but instead with fire and defiance.

 

Harry had seen him look this way only once before, when Draco Malfoy had uttered the ugliest insult imaginable to a Wizard: calling Hermione a Mudblood. Ron had looked fit to kill then--and he probably would have done quite a load of damage too, if his wand had only been cooperating--but even the way he looked then absolutely paled in comparison to the way he looked now.

 

Watching him, Harry realised he had never been so proud of Ron, not even when he had so selflessly offered himself to be taken by the white queen all those years ago. There were those who had been surprised when Ron became an Auror after leaving Hogwarts--those who had simply assumed that the youngest Weasley brother would forever be one step behind his brothers, always mediocre in the things in which they easily excelled. But Harry and Hermione had always thought differently. They had both seen Ron, the true Ron, the one who shined when it mattered the most. The one who didn’t think twice about giving his life to save his best friend; who stood up to a crazed murderer whom he thought was about to kill them; who was always the first to ambush anyone who showed them disrespect.

 

Slowly, Harry stood, then walked over to join his best friend at his side, and together they faced the enemy.

 

Voldemort had been watching them as they watched him, stopping a few feet away from them, then taking the time to form a smile that would make any human being want to come out of their skin. “Well,” he said, “together again, I see. How very touching.”

 

Harry had been so intent on looking in his eyes all this time that he hadn’t noticed the slight motion of Voldemort’s wand hand, and in the next instant, a cry of pain tore out of Ron’s mouth, and he fell to his knees, clutching his forearm.

 

“No!! Ron!!!”

 

Harry sank down to his knees and tried to help Ron up, but Ron was in too much agony, doubled over and grasping his arm as if it would fall off if he let go.

 

“Leave him out of this!” he said. “It’s me that you want, isn’t it?”

 

Voldemort answered with a smug smile. “Oh, don’t you worry, Potter. I will get to you soon enough and we will settle some old debts. But your friend here...” He turned to Ron, wand aimed straight at him. He seemed to take particular delight in saying the word _friend_, infusing it with enough venom to leave absolutely no doubt in Harry’s mind what he meant to do right now. “He has to be taught a valuable lesson first.”

 

“Go to hell, you bastard!!” Ron spat out.

 

His face was red and twisted with straining to keep conscious, despite the raging pain Harry knew he must have been under. Harry knew if Voldemort willed it, his own scar would be burning like mad right now; he would gladly have that happen if it meant relieving Ron of his own suffering right now.

 

“How quickly we change allegiances, my Knight...” He laughed cruelly, pulling back his wand, giving Ron momentary reprieve. Ron collapsed to the ground, panting, sweating. “But I suppose I always knew you’d question your loyalty.”

 

He was now standing over Ron, and Harry made a move to pounce on him, but Voldemort anticipated his action and said, “Expelliarmus!” sending Harry crashing to the ground ten feet away. A horrific snap rang out upon contact with the ground, and the excruciating pain that shot through him when he tried to get back up told him he had just broken his right leg.

 

“The weak ones always fail me,” Voldemort was saying now. “They are so easy to build up at first--just tell them how valuable they are, how great their powers are... Isn’t that right, Weasley?”

 

He smiled again, clearly relishing each word. Ron was just staring at him in silence, showing no sign of intimidation. This seemed to please Voldemort all the more.

 

“Tell them what they want to hear,” he went on, “and they always believe it...” He leaned in close. “Did you really think... that I was telling you the truth when I told you that you were greater than the famous Harry Potter?”

 

Ron said nothing, though his face said it all. He was ready to erupt at any moment.

 

“How long had you dreamed of hearing those words, Weasley?” Voldemort taunted. Then he smiled the most maddening smile imaginable. “Only a desperate fool would have believed me-”

 

“You filthy liar!!”

 

No sooner than Ron tried valiantly to lunge at him, did Voldemort aim his wand once more and brought Ron down to his knees in a new wave of agony.

 

“A fool to the end... Don’t worry, Weasley, I won’t kill you yet. Not until you’ve suffered sufficiently...”

 

Harry had heard enough. Shifting his weight onto his good leg, he began to drag himself over to them, but Voldemort saw and again said, “Expelliarmus!” 

 

Only his was not the only voice that said the word.

 

Harry looked up, his leg throbbing in pain, making it an effort just to keep his eyes open. Voldemort was getting up, his face twisted with fury. There was a cloaked figure behind him, and when Voldemort whipped around to confront him, he lowered his hood, revealing the last person Harry would have ever expected.

 

“Snape!” Ron said. He seemed surprised to see him here as well, though not as stunned as Harry was.

 

What was he doing here? Harry had heard rumors about Snape over the years, but never really knew whether to believe them. Dumbledore had sent Snape on a mysterious mission the summer after their fourth year, after Voldemort had come back to life, but he had never returned, and while most had naturally assumed that Snape had in fact rejoined Voldemort, Dumbledore had insisted upon his innocence till his dying day.

 

But now here he was, and he had seemingly just helped them.

 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry made his way to the others, Voldemort now too distracted by Snape to notice he had moved.

 

“So, you have betrayed me as well,” Voldemort hissed. “Though it would not be the first time...”

 

“I was young and foolish once,” Snape replied. “But I saw the error of my ways and I vowed then that I would never let you destroy the Wizarding world again...”

 

Voldemort laughed--a hollow, arrogant laugh. “Your work was all in vain, then,” he said. “For eight years I’ve survived as a human again... and for eight years you waited while I grew stronger and stronger, until I became invincible once again? You’ve been a very patient man, Snape...”

 

“You are not invincible yet.”

 

“If that were true,” Voldemort said with a smile, “then you would have destroyed me before now. Or...” He looked in Ron’s direction. “... sent your precious Auror to do it for you.”

 

Harry held his breath as Voldemort raised his wand once more.

 

“But you know as well as I that I have recovered my powers. No one single Wizard can destroy me, just as none could challenge me before.”

 

“Except for me,” Harry said.

 

Voldemort turned his head to look at him and narrowed his eyes menacingly. Harry managed a grin just to make the words sting all the more, though he knew it was suicide to do so.

 

“Your Mudblood mother isn’t around to protect you this time, Potter,” he said. “We’ll see how well you fare this time... Avada-”

 

Harry had raised his wand, ready to fend off Voldemort’s attack, but something had intercepted the spell: it was Snape.

 

Snape had thrown himself in front of Harry and Ron, absorbing the sparks that emitted from Voldemort’s half-uttered spell. His own wand was aimed right at Voldemort, and with the last bit of waning strength he seemed to be able to muster, he cried out to Harry and Ron, “Together... We must do this together...”

 

Harry fumbled for his wand underneath his coat; from the corner of his eye, he saw Ron doing the same, and in a split second, before Voldemort could speak again, they shouted out together, “Avada Kedavra!!”

 

An explosion of green light erupted, blinding Harry for a few seconds, and when the images began to form before him again, he saw two bodies sprawled on the ground, one perfectly still, and one still breathing, but barely.

 

“Snape,” Ron whispered, stumbling over to his fallen body. “Lie still, we’ll get you help-”

 

Harry dragged himself over to them, and saw Snape’s lifeless eyes staring back at Ron. “No,” he sputtered, “it’s too late...”

 

Ron was shaking his head, as if unable to comprehend what had just happened. “You saved us,” he kept muttering, “you saved us...”

 

“I did... what Dumbledore had entrusted me to do...” Each breath seemed to be a struggle for him now. “It’s over... it’s finally over...”

 

He shook, taking air in for the final time, before his head dropped to the side. Ron looked up at Harry, and no words were exchanged between them, then he reached over and closed Snape’s eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Epilogue**

 

“It won’t be too much longer now, Mrs. Weasley... just a few more pushes...”

 

Hermione let out an annoyed groan in response; she did not seem to find much comfort in the midwife’s words. Ron had been holding her hand in an attempt to encourage and reassure her, but despite his best intentions, she was clearly still in a great deal of pain, and her staccato breath was beginning to come in at increasingly shorter intervals now. She squeezed his hand even tighter and leaned into him, her face flushed deep scarlet from the strain she’d been under since her labor started over fourteen hours ago. “Oh,” she moaned, “what I wouldn’t give for a Muggle epidural right now...”

 

Ron held his smile in check, though he found the comment more than a bit amusing. But this would probably be a inappropriate time to laugh, he decided, and certainly the last thing he wanted right now was to catch his wife’s ire at such a moment. Thinking of the safest possible thing he could say in response, he whispered, “You’re doing amazing, love... almost there...”

 

“The head’s almost out...”

 

“There, you see?” Ron said. “The baby’s almost here...”

 

But Hermione could only grimace as she prepared for another push, then she blew out another exhale. “Can’t you just give me a numbing spell and get it over with?” Hermione said to the midwife.

 

At this, Ron could no longer resist a chuckle, and to his surprise, Hermione laughed as well.

 

“‘Fraid not, my dear... That’s not the way we do it in the Wizarding world...”

 

Hermione groaned again; clearly she was disappointed in the answer, as little in the Wizarding world had ever failed her before. “How could your mother do this seven times?” she said through gritted teeth.

 

“How about we ask her another time,” Ron said, and he smiled in relief when she laughed once again.

 

“Here come the shoulders, Mrs. Weasley,” the midwife said.

 

Ron watched in utter amazement as he watched the scene unfold. The whole thing still seemed so surreal to him, being with Hermione at this moment, seeing their child enter this world.

 

Five months ago he was sure he would never reach this moment, and even when Voldemort had been killed, he had been afraid that the Ministry would condemn him and Harry for having used the ultimate unforgivable curse to bring the Dark Lord down. Indeed, there had been those among the top brass--Draco Malfoy having led the charge--who had wanted Ron to be stripped of his Auror title, and called for him and Harry be ordered to stand trial for their crimes. But they had had their supporters in the Ministry as well, and in the end, the officials had decided that all of this had to be put to rest once and for all. Ron and Harry had been pardoned.

 

And now he was here, and the baby he had been afraid he’d never get to see was moments away from being born.

 

Ron hoped it would be very soon now; he didn’t know how much longer Hermione could hold on. She was quiet now, very quiet, but tears were streaming down her cheeks and Ron knew she was doing everything she could not to focus on the pain.

 

“Just keep squeezing my hand,” he told her. “I don’t care if you break it, s’long as it helps, even just a little bit.”

 

She laughed and said, “You’ll need to be able to hold the baby, Ron. I can break your hand later when it’s not so critical--oooh!!!” She grimaced again, squeezing her eyes shut, as Ron kissed her forehead. 

 

“One more, love, can you do that? One more, and the little tyke’ll be joining us...”

 

Sometime between breaths, she uttered an affirmative, then pushed out one final time. Ron watched in awe as he saw the tiny being slide out into the midwife’s arms, letting loose a loud cry as soon as the umbilical cord was cut.

 

“Congratulations,” the midwife said, holding up their baby. “You have a son...”

 

“A boy,” Hermione said, more tears streaming down her face now. “Oh Ron, we have a little boy...”

 

But Ron couldn’t find his voice at that moment. He watched the midwife place their baby in Hermione’s arms, and for the longest time he simply looked at them, mother and son, hoping he would be able to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

 

The baby squirmed, his face red with a soundless cry, matching perfectly the light tufts of hair on his head already. Ron chuckled; Hermione had gotten her wish after all.

 

His eyes met Hermione’s, and they smiled at each other. He reached over, placing a light kiss on her lips and whispered, saying the only thing he could think of at the moment, “Thank you.”

 

Hermione laughed, her tears coming steadily. “Back at you,” she said, then she shifted her weight and looked up at Ron. “I think it’s time he met his father now...”

 

Ron leaned over as she gingerly placed him in his arms. For a long time, he just looked at his son, thinking of all these many months he’d had to endure. They had been well worth this moment.

 

Outside, he knew their family waited: Hermione’s parents, and his, Harry and Ginny, and Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George. But this moment was theirs alone, his and his son’s.

 

Gently, he kissed his forehead, and the baby responded with a flutter of his eyes.

 

“Welcome to the world, Jack Arthur Weasley.”


End file.
